


Their Song

by softieghost



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal, Nikolai's undying love for his grandson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softieghost/pseuds/softieghost
Summary: Nikolai reflects, for a moment, on his grandson.





	Their Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ded_i_am_just_ded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Getaway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12997809) by [ded_i_am_just_ded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded). 



In the holding area, Nikolai remembered certain things. He leaned against the concrete wall as the other people in Yuri’s life milled around him. They all had a nervous energy, but he stilled, and closed his eyes, and reflected for a moment. 

Nikolai was there when Yuri was born. Yuri’s mother - Nikolai’s daughter - gave birth in the car on the way to the hospital. Yuri was small. But he was a fighter, and cried loud enough to make the drivers in the neighboring cars look over to see what was happening. 

Yuri continued to be small - but loud - as he grew up. He got into fights in his first years of schooling. He had so much expendable energy Nikolai would end up taking him on walks late in the deary Russian night just so he would sleep a few hours. While Nikolai was yawning in the frigid air, Yuri was holding his hand and trying to run away from him because he had seen a kitten at the end of the road. He would run, and jump over the cracks and dips in the pavement, and always get _ this close  _ (“this close, Dedushka, this close!!”) to catching the offending feline.

His fighting grew worse in tandem with his grades, and his reputation, at school. Nikolai’s daughter was gone by then, so it was on him to find something for his precious - if precocious - grandson. 

First, he put Yuri into soccer, and then tennis, and he thought about boxing but Yuri was far too young to try that. Like with many Russian children, it was the local ice rink that proved salvage for Yuri’s angry heart. 

When Yuri discovered the ice, Nikolai believed he would grow up to play hockey. Something rough and tumble, something loud and bloody, something very, very Yuri. But his grandson surprised him (again) and turned twirls and - what was the word - swizzles at every chance. 

Yuri took to the ice like fire, all anger, and hot emotion. Nikolai was often afraid that his grandson would melt the ice behind him if he wasn’t careful. 

Yuri wasn’t helped as he hit puberty, and started shadowing Nikiforov, a man so legendary it was hard to even conceptualize him. Yuri followed in Nikiforov’s tracks in many ways. He was haughty, talented, best of the best with an ego to match. Yuri started to look at other men not just as competition but something else, and Nikolai wanted to blame Nikiforov. 

But, he knew, Yuri was too busy being caught up in his own problems to follow after someone else. He radiated personality even when he just sat at the boards and watched his fellow skaters. It seemed, very often, that nothing would reign Yuri Plisetsky in all the way. No sport, no medal count, no mentor or father figure to replace the father he never had. 

Nothing would stop Yuri in his tracks. 

And then, to Nikolai’s ultimate surprise, something did. 

He knew, deep down, hat Yuri had always been a lonely child. He struggled to make friends for a number of reasons - his temper, his slightness, his dedication to his sport. It was strange to consider Nikiforov a friend to his barely-teenage grandchild, but he was all there was, for a while. 

Yakov Feltsman grunted in Nikolai’’s direction, breaking his thoughts for just a half second. Everyone was looking at him. He supposed that was fair - he had given explicit permission for the event to occur. 

As Nikolai stepped into the empty rink and breathed deep against the cold, metallic air, he thanked his lucky stars that his son met Otabek Altin. Otaek was wild in his own way, and Nikolai had been apprehensive when Yuri came home to tell him all about his new best friend. An older boy who DJed at night, who drove a motorcycle, who never so much as cracked a smile in any interview or skating video Nikolai could find. 

But when they were together, they stayed in line, as if they both felt the need to protect the other. Yuri had told him that the very first time they went out, back in Barcelona, Otabek had left him behind, decrying his age (and sensibilities). Nikolai knew Otabek had good intentions, despite his penchant for rock music. 

Nikolai stopped walking, settling in his spot, and watched Otabek Altin skate. 

Otabek was a powerful skater. Where Yuri had anger, fire, long limbs, and reach, Otabek had strength, a grounded energy. Something so different it was hard to explain, especially when it looked so similar to the untrained eye. 

Nikolai looked over at Yuri, standing at the boards of the rink. He was red-faced and stooped, clutching the wood for dear life. The child was drunk. 

Nikolai smiled. That was a good way to do it, he supposed. 

He let his hands rest against the cold metal of the safety rail and watched the performance. 

The music was young, something he didn’t recognize, something kind of rock and pop blended together. There were lyrics, too, like a regular band, not the kind of classical orchestra pieces Yuri normally tended towards. The music was something Yuri’s teacher, Madam Baranovskaya, would despise. Still, Otabek embodied the words in a way only he could. Even Yuri would struggle to skate to _ that kind  _ of music.

Yakov Feltsmen stood beside him, watching the performance, too. 

“Nikolai,” he grunted. 

“Yakov,” Nikoali grunted back.

“I hate this. I hate seeing this.” Yakov waved his hand at the show going on beneath them. “I hate seeing my skaters taken by such drama. They all get it from  _ him _ .” Yakov continued, while gesturing over at Nikiforov himself. 

Nikiforov smiled, and flashed a peace sign. His arm was suspiciously low on his husband’s back. 

Nikolai frowned. His heart hurt to know that Yuri’s coach was unsupportive of what was about to happen. 

He turned his head back to the performance. It would be ending soon. He could tell because of everything he had learned from Yuri. Big jumps and spins (“‘elements’, Dedushka, ‘elements’”) had already been done and Otabek’s gestures were slowing down in time with the music that was starting to fade away. 

“You disagree, then?” 

Yakov turned to him, stared him in the eye. His hair was even more white than ever, these days, and he was nearing retirement. He would finish out his last few students and then...some sort of “old hag retirement home”, according to Yuri. 

Nikolai and him and a strange relationship. They both cared very deeply about the blonde fury that was Yuri Plisetsky. They both had very differing ideas on how to get him to do the right thing. 

Otabek Altin dropped to his knee as the song faded away. The stadium, all ten thousand seats, all the booths, scoreboards, all the lights, all of the glory of a sports palace faded away and Otabek’s skate scraped the ice. 

“Of course I approve. He’s the only one that’s ever managed to get Yuri to do the right thing.” Yakov muttered. “I gave this boy years of my life, but he still doesn’t listen to me.” 

“I doubt Yuri is about to come a dutiful househusband, Yakov. We both know it wouldn’t suit him.”

Yakov hummed his agreement, but his frown stayed the same. 

Down on the ice, though,  Yuri’s face, redder than ever, burst into a smile. He yelled at Otabek, who smiled back. Their eyes never left one another and even Nikolai, with his old eyes, could see the gleam of the band in the ring box. It shown like the ice that they danced on and maybe, he supposed, that was the point. 

Yuri had always been small, and loud, and ready to burn every bridge he came across, with one exception.


End file.
